In Two States at Once
Bowing my head into the wind I feel my breath freezing on my scarf. My fingers instinctively curl inside my gloves, shoved deep in my pockets, trying to find each other's warmth. I haven't even made it into the forest this week, it's all I can do to trudge up to the barn and feed everyone three times a day. The ground is mostly covered in icy snow. Patches where the sun managed to melt show what looks to be total devastation - brown grass, churned up, frozen mud, dead foliage. I keep trying to conjure up images of this field in the summer. I can see it in my mind's eye, lush, green, buzzing, but can't seem to grasp the steps from here to there. It feels so far away.
Right now summer seems to be an impossible dream, but I trust Spring will show up just has it has every other year I remember.
I am working on finding the same trust inside myself, a knowing that I will, one day, become who I aspire to be. That too, can feel like an impossible dream some days as I watch myself perpetuating old patterns of reactivity, judgement and blame. My trust in Spring working its magic is more reliable, I find I can lean on it to prop me up when I need it. It helps me notice and remember the moments when I am who I hope to be. By leaning into my trust in Spring I can more easily surrender to being a work in progress - part old, habitual, dysfunctional patterns and part fresh, new, life-affirming perspectives.
The sheep's water bucket is a solid block of ice. I haul it over to the creek hoping the flow of water might thaw it out a little or at least give them a couple of inches to drink from. We have a pipe in the creek that channels water into a metal bucket making it easier for the horse to drink from the otherwise shallow creek. As I approach the pipe I see it has transformed over night. The water is still flowing through it into the bucket but it is now wearing a cloak of ice that extends around both sides of the pipe and down to the bucket. The ice continues half way around the rim of the bucket forming solid arms holding the pool of running water.
The sun, finally up above the eastern ridge is causing the ice to glitter. I notice that the south facing bank of the creek has melted and appears to be a few steps closer to Spring than the north facing bank which is still covered in snow. As I shove the sheep's frozen bucket under the flow of water I'm struck by its capacity to be both liquid and solid simultaneously. Likewise, the creek banks are straddling forms - spring-ish and deep winter. Zooming out I see the same pattern repeated across the entire valley, some places in icy shadow, others melting into Spring. I know my vision of the Summer field exists in contrast to this Winter one and that somewhere on the other side of the globe there is field like this one in the fullness of its Summer, and maybe a farmer trying to imagine winter.
I realize that I too exist in multiple states simultaneously. I'm not one thing, I'm never stuck in one state. I fluctuate back and forth, around and around, spiraling ever closer to who I hope to be. A vision that of course keeps evolving and moving further out. When I stop to acknowledge and appreciate the journey to this point, I can more easily see how far I've come. How many dysfunctional habits have been pulled out into the sunshine, acknowledged, thanked, blessed and sent on down the river, creating space for the next one to bubble up in my awareness.
As the abundant ever flowing stream of water overflows the sheep's bucket I am filled with gratitude for winter. For the time to stand still, to reflect on what has come before, on what might become and who I might become through the process of it all. Because truth be told I don't remember ever standing in the field in summer and trying to conjure up images of winter! There's something about the discomfort and stillness of winter that sharpens my awareness, that brings the bigger picture into focus.
In what two states are you simultaneously existing?